Quaeryt definitely understood the difference—especially after all the days on the road—but why had Vaelora’s great-great-grandmere always slept alone … and why, in those days, had her husband acquiesced in that arrangement? “Did she have a temper?”
“Grandmere did. I don’t know about her grandmere.”
“Did they ever move to Extela?”
Vaelora shook her head. “They both lived here until they died, Grandmere said. Their son and his wife eventually moved to Extela after Grandmere married Grandpere. Grandmere’s younger brother died in a hunting accident, and the lands became hers because he had no heirs.”
Quaeryt nodded slowly. “It has to have something to do with your grandmere’s visions. Did her mother and grandmother have that ability?”
“Grandmere never said. They were both Pharsi, though. From wealthy families.”
Quaeryt would have wagered that one or both had had visions, but after all the years, who would know? “Have you seen enough?”
Vaelora nodded. “It’s sad. This was once a place filled with people. They loved and cried and laughed. Now … there’s no one.” She stood in the chamber for a long time, saying nothing.
Quaeryt waited.
Finally, they left, walking slowly back along the rough stone floor toward the staircase. Neither spoke.
20
Quaeryt, Vaelora, and the two battalions reached Montagne by midafternoon on Mardi, through one rainstorm and more high waters, but did not have to cross any more flooded or damaged bridges. The post at Montagne was far older than the one at Cloisonyt, and the two battalions filled every available space in the barracks that could be called habitable. That did not include three barracks that resembled abandoned storehouses. After talking matters over with the two battalion majors and Vaelora, Quaeryt decided they would stay the one night in Montagne and leave the next morning for Extela.
Five days later, on Solayi afternoon, Quaeryt and Vaelora followed the outriders over the crest in the road leading out of the hills and down to the valley that held Extela—situated largely on the west side of the Telexan River. The sky was dusky orange, not with clouds, but with a heavy haze, and what looked to be a gray fog rose from a peak to the north of the city. As dry flakes fell intermittently around him, Quaeryt realized that the mountain had to be Mount Extel and that the gray plume rising from it had to be ash.
“The northwest quarter of the city…” gasped Vaelora, “it’s all covered in black rock … only one tower left of the palace … and the north market…”
Quaeryt followed her gesture with his eyes. To the northwest, closer to the foot of Mount Extel, not all the rock was black. There were lines of orange—still-hot lava.
A light gust of wind swirled warm sulfurous air and ashes around them, some of which Quaeryt brushed off his browns before he looked at Vaelora. She looked back at him and shook her head. “I never imagined it would be this bad.”
As the mare carried him down toward the river, Quaeryt studied the devastation. A reddish orange fountain of lava spurted intermittently from the side of the mountain and then oozed downhill, winding its way around and over earlier, but still recent, hardened and blackened flows. In some few places, such as the tower Vaelora had noted that jutted up from the black stone, a remnant of the old palace, the lava had seemingly flowed around a few structures while obliterating or covering most of the northwest section of the city. One flow had reached the river, well north of the city, and created a dam and a lake, over which poured steaming water, but the hills along the river south of the lava dam had diverted the molten rock back into a narrow area of streets and structures, leaving most of the destruction in the northwest quarter of the city.
Tents and huts and other crude structures dotted the east side of the river, but well south of the main part of Extela and only on the higher ground beyond the low hills that rose from the eastern shore.
“What about the posts?” Quaeryt asked Meinyt, who rode on the far side of Vaelora. “Can you tell how much they’ve been damaged?”
“The main post is well to the south of the city, and there does not seem to be that much damage to the south,” said Meinyt. “There was a smaller post below…”
“Below where the palace used to be?” asked Quaeryt.
The major nodded. “We’ll need to see if the main bridge is usable. Otherwise … it’s another five milles to the south bridge.”
The fields and meadows on each side of the road were covered in a thin layer of gray ash, along with piles of ash along the shoulder gathered by runoff from the lands. As they neared the river, Quaeryt noted the piles of debris from an earlier flood—or floods—and the ruins of houses and other structures within fifty to a hundred yards of the river.
What had once been a bridge was now more of a dam with gaps in it crossed by heavy planks over timbers and braced by oddly shaped chunks of stone, offering passage barely wide enough for a single supply wagon at a time.
“Looks almost as bad as the bridge in Gahenyara,” observed Meinyt sourly.
Unstable as the bridge appeared, the heavy planks barely vibrated as the scouts, and then Quaeryt and Vaelora, crossed, followed immediately by troopers. Even before more than a squad of the first company of Meinyt’s battalion had crossed the narrow makeshift bridge and formed up, figures appeared from what had appeared to be deserted streets and lanes. At first, there were but a handful, but the numbers began to swell, and all moved toward the riders, so that by the time all four squads of the first company had reached the ash-strewn plaza on the western shore of the Telexan River, close to fifty people in ash-smeared clothes were converging on the riders. Most were women, many with small children. Despite the damp chill, few if any of the women wore head scarves, although many had shawls across their shoulders.
“Do you have food?”
“… food…”
“… days since we ate…” A gaunt woman in gray and faded brown held up an infant. “Please … food…”
“First squad! Form up on the governor!”
Quaeryt didn’t know the squad leader, but he appreciated the command. There was little enough in the way of provisions in the wagons that followed, and trying to distribute that small amount was more likely to cause a riot and more deaths. He could have used shields, if necessary, but armed men would provide a more visible and understandable deterrent.
“They’re truly starving. Can’t we do something?” asked Vaelora.
“We may be able to,” he replied, “but not here and now. If we show food, hundreds more will appear, and they’ll push those in front toward us.…”
Vaelora winced.
“Arms ready! Forward!” ordered the squad leader.
Slowly, the squad moved forward, farther into the plaza, to allow the companies behind to form up once they crossed the rubble-built bridge. The crowd swelled to close to a hundred, but some at the fringes began to fade back into buildings and lanes as it became clear that there was no food to be had. Meinyt’s battalion was across the bridge, followed by the first supply wagon when a voice called out, “They have wagons coming!”
“They do have food! See the wagons!”
“Food!”
The movement away from the plaza halted, and then reversed. Even more people appeared out of the dust and ashes, heading toward the river end of the plaza and forming a human spearhead toward the bridge, giving the armed squad at the head of the column a clear berth.
“Protect the Lady!” snapped Quaeryt as he turned the mare and extended his shields, riding toward those leading the hunger-driven mob.
The force of the mare’s weight and movement behind the shields cleared those at the edge of the mob’s back, allowing Quaeryt to aim at the front of the near-raging crowd, forcing them away from the first wagon. As he reined up, Quaeryt forced himself to ignore the old woman who fell under the press of rioters forced back—and the child torn from her arms.
The crowd halted … as if those who had led it were u
ncertain.
“Ready arms!”
Quaeryt sensed, rather than saw, the flash of sabres.
The crowd stopped, but did not retreat.
Quaeryt stood in the stirrups, using imaging to project both his voice and the sense of authority and power. “Go back to your homes. Attacking soldiers for food will only get you hurt! Go back! Now!”
As he finished speaking, but kept trying to image authority across the crowd, he could feel a slight throbbing, but nothing more. He remained standing, watching, as slowly, and then more quickly, the hungry people began to disperse.
“Governor…?”
Quaeryt dropped into the saddle and turned to see Meinyt rein up. “Yes?”
“How…? It was … I even felt I needed to leave.” The major frowned.
“I didn’t want anyone hurt any more than they already had been.” He glanced to his right, seeing Vaelora riding toward him, flanked by troopers. She eased her mount toward the old woman who had struggled into a sitting position and somehow found the small child she had lost in the crowd. Vaelora bent down from the saddle, with a flexibility and skill Quaeryt could never have come close to, and extended something, biscuits perhaps, to the old woman.
“The Nameless bless you, Lady…”
Vaelora straightened up in the saddle and rode slowly over toward Meinyt and Quaeryt. “Can she and the child come with us, at least to the post?”
The major looked to Quaeryt.
Quaeryt nodded. “She was hurt when I ordered everyone away from the wagons. That wasn’t her fault.” They’d only been in Extela a quint or so, and he’d had to image authority and threaten people with armed men. He feared that matters would only get worse … and that power might be the only way to keep order.
“Jusaph! Have your men get the woman and child in the wagons. We need to keep moving.”
Before those in the crowd regain their courage and desperation. Quaeryt did not speak, only nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
In less than half a quint, the two battalions, every man with his sabre ready, were riding down the ash-strewn boulevard that ran southwest parallel to the river. The doors of shops that had been secured with iron grates appeared largely untouched, as did those that appeared ironbound and sturdy.
But then, that just might mean intruders found easier access. Or that some crafters are still in their shops, waiting behind those doors.
There were some shops and dwellings where the ash had been swept away from doors and off shutters, and with the other signs he saw, such as footprints in the ash, unshuttered second-level windows, and the like, Quaeryt thought that not quite half the structures held inhabitants, probably those who had had fuller larders.
Another mille or so brought them to the main post, located on a low rise overlooking the river. The ironbound gates swung open as the column neared the stone walls of the post, but archers manned the ramparts, and two squads of cavalry were mounted up in the main courtyard. They remained so until the gates were closed.
Quaeryt immediately surveyed the structures inside the walls of the post. Directly to his right, beyond the mounted squads, was a modest anomen, with its dome of faded yellow-gold. Although it did not appear in poor repair, it had an air of disuse, and a length of chain with a lock on it secured the double doors, whose weathered oak had seen better days. Beside the anomen was the first of several structures that looked to be stables, and beyond them was a long barracks building. To Quaeryt’s immediate left was an oblong black stone structure of one level that suggested a command building, perhaps with an officers’ mess. Farther back was a two-story structure with a railed balcony and doors set at regular intervals opening on to the balcony, with matching doors below, most likely officers’ quarters.
Quaeryt’s survey was cut short as a graying commander hurried across the courtyard from the single-story black stone building, making his way directly to Vaelora, Quaeryt, and Meinyt. The commander’s hair was not quite the color of the ash that still drifted down everywhere, if of a finer nature and in far smaller quantities south of the main party of Extela, and his face was drawn.
“Governor? Major? I’m Zhrensyl, the post commander.”
Quaeryt studied the commander, whose eyes were red-rimmed, and who did not look to be in the best of health, but said nothing as Meinyt began to speak.
“This is Governor Quaeryt … and Lady Vaelora as well. I’m Meinyt, major in command of Third Battalion, Third Tilboran Regiment.”
“Thank the Namer you’re here, Governor, Major. You, too, Lady. We barely have enough men to keep the rabble from overrunning the gates. It’s been that way for near-on two weeks, ever since the other regiment left.”
“The rabble?” asked Vaelora coolly.
“Many of those who had the means began to leave weeks ago, Lady. Those that survived the eruption and the floods, that is. The rest…” Zhrensyl shook his head.
“What about the holders farther from the city?” asked Quaeryt.
“They just retreated behind their walls. They can hold off planting for a few weeks. They hoped that Lord Bhayar would send another force.” The commander glanced toward the now-closed gates. “We had hoped…”
“There are two more battalions and the engineers following,” Quaeryt replied to the unspoken inquiry. “We had to leave them to rebuild the bridge in Gahenyara in order to allow the rest of the supply and engineering wagons to pass. How are your provisions?”
“We have field rations for two regiments for another month. Little else.”
“And water?”
“So far the springs remain clear and cool.”
“What about fodder or grain?”
“Less than a month for a regiment.”
“We’ll need to plan how we can get more provisions here and more food to the city.”
“There needs to be order. I have not had the men…”
“Commander … unless people see that there is food, the only order that will exist is that imposed by the edge of a sabre, and that order will only remain while the sabre is unsheathed and ready to wield.”
Quaeryt’s words were quiet, but the commander involuntarily took a step back.
“For the moment,” added Quaeryt with a smile, “we need to get the men and their mounts settled and everyone fed.”
“For you and Lady Vaelora … we only have the senior officers’ quarters … since the palace and governor’s house…”
“Those will be fine.” Especially after all the places we’ve slept along the way.
“They will,” added Vaelora with a smile.
“Ah … the officers’ stables are the ones at the end…”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt turned to Meinyt. “We’ll need to talk with the commander after we eat.” Then he looked at Vaelora, and the two eased their mounts forward toward the stables.
Almost two quints later, Quaeryt and Vaelora stood inside the senior officers’ quarters, located at the west end on the top floor of an old black stone building holding quarters for squad leaders and officers. The quarters consisted of a sitting room, a bath chamber and jakes, and a bedchamber, much smaller than the apartments Quaeryt and Vaelora had occupied in Tilbora, and yet far more spacious than anything in which they had stayed since then.
As the door closed behind the ranker who had carried two of their bags, in addition to the kit bags each had lugged up from the stable, the pleasant smile dropped from Vaelora’s face, replaced by an expression of concern. “How do you feel, dearest?”
“Just a touch of a headache, and it’s going away.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“I saw what you did,” Vaelora persisted. “Every time you do strong imaging, it takes effort on your part.”
“Unfortunately, it does. But everything in the world takes strength of some sort.”
“But there are different kinds of strength. Waterwheels work without horses or people pushing them.”
“And sails on
ships,” he added. Could there be any way to have the wind or water add force to imaging? Or something like that? He shook his head. That seemed improbable. Most improbable.
After a moment he smiled. “The commander said that there was warm water in the bath chamber.”
“You are so gallant.”
Just hopeful. “I do try, dear.”
21
Despite what Commander Zhrensyl had said about rations, the evening meal at the officers’ mess consisted of a mutton stew with root vegetables and potatoes and fresh-baked bread, as did the fare for the other two battalions, served in the troops’ mess at the west end of the compound. In a slight break with tradition, Vaelora also ate with the officers, at a long table that could have held fifty, instead of the sixteen who were seated there, most of whom were undercaptains and captains. The chamber itself was oblong and paneled in oak that had aged into a deep golden brown, as had the slightly battered if well-polished table and the straight-backed chairs.
After the meal, once the junior officers had been dismissed and departed, Zhrensyl, Meinyt, Fhaen, Quaeryt, and Vaelora reseated themselves around the end of the table, with Quaeryt seated at the head.
“The people need food, but commandeering it from the surrounding lands isn’t advisable, except as a very last resort.” Quaeryt turned to the commander. “Do you know what happened to the provincial treasury?”
“No, sir,” replied Zhrensyl. “I imagine it’s buried under all that ash and lava. Almost no one escaped from the first ash storm.”
Fhaen raised his eyebrows, but did not speak.
“The ash came down like the worst rain anyone had ever seen. That’s what the handful who escaped said.” Zhrensyl went on. “It swept down the mountainside and buried almost everything in its path—the palace, the command base, the governor’s building and quarters. The lava came later.”
“Just ash?” asked Fhaen.
“It wasn’t just ash, Major. There was a massive thunderclap, and the ground shook. Then a wall of ash roared down the mountain. It happened at night. The wind was so hot that it roasted people alive in their beds before they knew what happened.” The commander shook his head. “We tried to help, but when we got there, we found people had either escaped, perhaps with a few burns, or they had died where they stood or slept. We found a few horses and oxen roasted in their traces or yokes … except there was little remaining of either traces or yokes. We had to leave after that, when the lava began to flow over everything.”
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